Michael Jackson and Me or You

Michael Jackson died a couple of days ago. We've all had saturation coverage.

Even here in England. Was he Bad or was he Mad, it went to court and he was declared innocent.

His work, his art, his dancing will be remembered for many a year. Over here in 48 hours he's sold 300,000 records/albums.

His body has had 2 inquests so we are told. Folks will fight over what remains of his money.

Will anybody have time to love his kids?

All these are questions that are all over the media, be it the quality end of the press or the supermarket magazine side of the press.

WHICH MAKES ME WONDER

Who will mourn when I die. Will my daughters cry, or will they moan that it has broke into their holidays. Will they say I should have prepaid for my own funeral. Will they hold my still warm body in their arms and let the damn burst with tears. Will they cry and laugh as they remember how I nagged them to always wear their slippers as they were forever getting colds when they were kids. Will they put on my voice and mannerisms as they remember and cry in equal measure at my loss. Will they laugh even more because i never learnt Chinese even though mum, my wife was a Shanghai girl. So my girls could trick me just by speaking Chinese to each other. Will my death make my Shanghai beauty suddenly grow old. Will she scream and shout  and cry for days when I'm gone. Will my three girls put a watch on my wrist and a DAB radio in the coffin beside me. Will all this come to pass?

It will because I am blest with love, my girls love me though I am fat, Panzi is my Chinese nickname, it means "FAT FAT BOY", perhaps they'll even have in on my memorial stone as well as my name. ALL THIS WILL COME TO PASS BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN LOVED.

So sleep long, sleep deep Michael Jackson, I just hope you were loved as much as I am. 

Tonight 23rd Jan 2009

I've  just posted some of my short pieces, they were on my old site.I hope you like them. My book The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker is posted too.

I also compiled a 3rd book Essays and Plays.

I have yet to finish my 2nd  book Tears for a Butcher.Though the pieces of that jigsaw are floating through my mind and more and more of the story is finished in my mind. I just wish I could afford  to have a year off to put it all down on paper.

As of tonight NO White Knight has  yet appeared to open the door for me so that I could become a real published and paid writer.

The Watch and Me

Sep00Michael G Casey email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com 

                    The Watch and Me ©

                                 By

                           Michael  Casey
        
  I suppose my love affair with the watch started when I was just a child
 
now  30  years on the passion is still there .  I remember lifting  up  my
 
dad's shirt sleeve to look at the watch on his wrist , watching the second
 
hand  sweep  around  and  asking what time was it  ,  not  that  I  really
 
understood the concept of time ,  I knew midnight was always dark  ,  that
 
was  about  it really .  Oh apart from some special time  called  "opening

time"  and "closing time" ,  our lodgers would pay their rent at the back
 
door before rushing off to the pub , it was a mystery to me .

      A cousin of ours was to be ordained a priest in Dublin ,  so dad and
 
2  of my brothers went off to Dublin for the ceremony .  I  remember  Tony
 
coming  back with a watch on his wrist ,  it had a black strap and  had  a
 
small face ,  then at the bottom was seperate dial with a second hand  on
 
it ,  we all thought it was very posh . So being children we now used this
 
dial  to see how long we could hold our breath ,  we'd take a deep  breath
 
and  pump  up  our cheeks then Tony waved his hands  and  we'd  start  our
 
endurance test .  Only stopping when we fell over our faces brilliant red
 
and  our eyes bulging .  I remember Tony seemed to win this game always  ,
 
not  because he cheated but because he loved under water swimming  so  had
 
mastered holding his breath .  Then we had a contest to run down the  yard
 
past  the hedge to the bottom of the garden and touch the  fence  and
 
come back and touch the wall of the house , we were all young and mad then
 
but such simple fun was all because we had a watch with a second hand .

      Jim was our lodger for 20years , when he'd been with us for 11 years
 
I badgered him for a present , for a watch . if I passed the 11 plus exam.

Finally he gave in and gave me his own 2nd best watch ,  in fact I got  it
 
before I even sat the exam .  So the watch Jim gave me was my first  watch
 
ever  .  The trouble with leather watch straps is that they dig into  your
 
flesh  ,  so  you  loosen the strap but then the  watch  dangles  ,  so  I
 
compromised by using stretch straps ,  then you can slide a stretch  strap
 
all the way up your arm , until it feels comfortable . I also always liked
 
mechanical watches , it was a night time rictual , taking my watch off and
 
winding  it up ,  setting the time against the chimes of Big Ben  on  the
 
radio . So you can see just how important a watch is to me . There is just
 
one thing I've forgotten to mention ,  watches always break .  Well when I
 
wear them anyway . For the past 20 years as a computer operator I'm always
 
carrying  something and banging my watch on doors or whatever  .  So  they
 
break ,  leaving my watch in the bathroom while I take a bath was  another
 
of my bad habits .  Watches steam up on me ,  or the winder gets rusty and
 
breaks  off ,  or I break the glass ,  or the glass falls out .  Once  the
 
glass fell out , so I glued it back again , only to make a mess of the job
 
and  glue the hands of the watch together as well .  Finally I decided  to
 
get a  quartz watch , they were accurate , only my sweaty wrist steamed up
 
the  face constantly ,  so I couldn't read the time .  On average a  watch
 
lasts me 1 year ,  my sister Mary always laughs every time I show her  my
 
latest new watch .  A simple Lorex watch was the best one I ever had , its
 
lasted  5 years .  However I must confess that it has only lasted me  that
 
long because when dad was in hospital after mum had died and he had nearly
 
died too he wanted a watch so he could pass the time ,  by looking at  the
 
watch ,  so he'd know when his next meal was ,  the fact that there was  a
 
clock on the wall not 2 yards away did not matter .  Of course I took  the
 
watch off my wrist and gave it to him . he was my dad and I loved him , so
 
if a watch would please him ,  he could have mine . That was 4 years ago ,
 
dad is called the miracle man ,  by the doctors ,  he beat death  ,  dad's
 
time  was  up and the grim reaper made an appearance twice ,  but  dad  is
 
still  alive and kicking ,  my watch ticking on his wrist .  Or so it  was
 
until last month .  Jie Jie my Chinese wife bought me a fancy watch for my
 
Birthday so I gave dad my watch , a fancy Esprit model , amd I retired the
 
old one ,  but I have kept it as a souvenir , we all thought dad would die
 
in  weeks  ,  but his heart is still ticking as strong and reliable  as  a
 
Rolex watch .  I think when we all die ,  if we are not worthy of Paradise
 
immediately  God will issue us with a Rolex and we have to wear it  for  a
 
billion  years  ,  until we are worthy of Paradise .  God's watch  is  the
 
turning  tides  ,  the  movememnt of the stars  accross  the  heavens  and
 
rumbling super vovas ,  after all didn't  time begin with creation . It is
 
us stupid mankind who try to limit it to a dial on a watch .
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

The Shy Girl

                        The Shy Girl ©

                             By

                         
                         Michael Casey
 

 

          Helen let herself in the house and shouted hello to her aunt  as
 
she  dashed  up the stairs two at a time .  This was usual for  her  on  a
 
Friday night .  Once in the bathroom she breathed a sigh of relief  ,  her
 
aunt hadn't seen the carrier bags she was carrying . Helen put the plug in
 
the bath and then reaching into the Body Shop carrier she poured a liberal
 
amount  of "enriching body bubble bath" into the bath before  turning  the
 
hot tap on . Next she hit the play button on the cassette and began to get
 
undressed  ,  she got undressed slowly and deliberatly ,  just as she  had
 
read  in  Cosmo in the article on how to turn on your  man  .  She'd  been
 
practicing for three months now , she was very good at it.
 
           Helen  was twenty five and three months old ,  she  wore  baggy
 
clothes  to  hide her figure ,  for she was a shy girl ,  it was  only  on
 
Friday  night when she reformed her ritual "temptress" routine before  she
 
tried  on  her new clothes that she was truely free .  All  alone  in  the
 
bathroom with just a mirror for company Helen could act out her fantasies,

now she stood naked before the mirror ,  she took a bow ,  she really  had
 
mastered the the routine Cosmo had suggested .  If only she wasn't so  shy
 
if  only she didn't hide her bust behind a baggy top and her bum behind  a
 
loose fitting three quarter length skirt .

            Helen took a long hard look at herself in the mirror  ,  she'd
 
look good on any page three ,  only she never bought the Sun , just looked
 
at  it over the shoulder of people on the bus .  She always though  "tart"
 
every time she got a glance of page three ,  but if only she could have  a
 
thimble full of their brazeness , then she wouldn't be so shy , then she'd
 
have  a steady boyfriend .  When she reached 25 she promised herself  that
 
she'd stop being so shy , and for the past three months she'd being buying
 
things  that would show off her figure ,  next week she was going  to  get
 
contacts too , after all men never made a pass at girls who wore glasses.

The  only problem was that for three months she'd bought the nice  if  not
 
exactly  sexy  clothes ,  only all she did was try them on  before  neatly
 
folding them and putting them at the bottom of her wardbrobe .  She really
 
was  a  shy girl ,  some might think a frump ,  just to judge  by  outward
 
appearences , its just that she was shy , shy shy shy.

          Her bath was ready so reaching in her carrier she reached for  a
 
magazine  before  getting in the bath .  This month the main  article  was
 
about sex , relationships and why cann't men just be friends , there was a
 
picture  from the film "When Harry Met Sally" above the article   .  Helen
 
started to read ,  her glasses steaming up already ,  she reached down for
 
her  bar  of Galexy taking a big bite as she read .  Helen's  friends  had
 
started  to  get  married and /or have serious  relationships  ,  she  was
 
beginning to feel left behind  ,  especially as once her friends had a man
 
they had less time for friendship with her .  She read the article  hoping
 
to  find fresh insight into her situation .  It was asking how far  should
 
you go on your first date , second date and so on , there was even a chart
 
so you had an at a glance guide .
 
           Helen thought of her last boyfiend , three months ago in fact ,
 
he  had  assused  that as it was her birthday the thing  she'd  like  most
 
would be him !  He's pressed himself against her , and put his hand on her
 
breast ,  only she'd kneed him in the groin , and his fancy watch with its
 
even  fancier  watch  strap had got stuck on her bra strap  ,  so  as  she
 
stormed  off ,  she had his Cartier watch dangling from her  chest  almost
 
like a nurse's watch . 
 
            She read on pausing for more chocolate ,  if only men were  as
 
nice  as  Galexy that would be something.  She finished the  article  and
 
turned  the page to be met with a picture of agent Fox Mulder from  the  X
 
files . She sighed , she wouldn't be shy with him that was for sure , mind
 
you  millions  of  woman would doubtless say the same  .  She  spent  five
 
minutes  adoring his picture before taking another bite of chocolate , and
 
then sinking lower into the bath ,  yes yes yes ,  oh yes , this chocolate
 
was something else , or was it Fox Mulder ?

           There was another article about pets and stress levels  ,  that
 
was quite interesting ,  apparently you live longer if you have a pet , as
 
you have something to love and it in return loves you unconditionally . if

only she could find a man like that .  Mind you animals did have one major
 
disadvantage  .  they were very wanton ,  very caveman like .  If  a  male
 
animal  liked  a female it just jumped and got on with it  ,  perhaps  she
 
should be wanton  ,  just once , just to see if it worked , could you find
 
true love by being a tart just the once and hoping you'd found the man  of
 
your dreams ? She closed her eyes and shook her head before saying outloud
 
, "a tart is a tart , is a tart " . Then she farted , giggled helplessly

as  the bubbles disappeared .  She thought of her friend Vicky ,  she  was
 
like her ,  very shy and hiding her figure behind frumpy clothes  ,  she'd
 
given herself away , only she'd got pregnant and the lad ran a mile , then
 
her mother threw her out ,  so she ended up running away to London to have
 
an  abortion .  Helen closed her eyes and shivered at the thought of it  ,
 
she  turned the hot tap with her big toe ,  she was determined that  would
 
never  happen to her .  Why she'd even gone on the pill so determined  was
 
she . 
 
           She just wished she'd meet somebody who was gentle and kind who
 
could  make her laugh , and above all was not so fast ,  she wanted to  be
 
courted ,  in fact she wanted to tell him ,  "you can put your hand on  my
 
breast now"  ,  perhaps she was longing for the 50s ,  even though now  it
 
was  nearing the millenium .  She wasn't looking for a man with a book  in
 
his  hand all the time and she wasn't looking for a body builder either  ,  
 
Martin  was  just perfect only the one time he got carried  away  and  had
 
touched  her bum with one hand and felt her breast with his other  hand  ,
 
and without  asking either  .  So naturally she'd kneed him in the groin  ,
 
what  else was she to do ?  In fact the men at work called  her   "frigid"
 
behind her back ,  but she had to have standards didn't she ?  It had been
 
the  first time she'd ever closed her eyes  ,  normally  she'd  keep
 
them  open  so she could keep a lookout for any roving hands  ,  then  the
 
first time she had relented and that had happened .  Perhaps one day she'd
 
love and trust somebody enough to give into her animal insticts ,  but she
 
just wasn't ready now .

           The bath water was getting cold now ,so she got out of the  bath
 
and dried herself in front of the mirror ,  once she was dry she'd try  on
 
her new clothes .  She had bought some red skimpy underwear ,  a red  knee
 
length skirt and a tight fitting blue top ,  as she got dressed she  began
 
to  laugh  ,  if  only people could see her now and  when  she  got  some
 
contacts she'd be really knockout .  Then she sighed , she'd tried lots of
 
bright colours over the past three months , but in her heart of hearts she
 
knew she'd never wear them in public , she just didn't have the confidence
 
besides every time she looked at herself in the mirror the only word  that
 
sprang to mind was "Tart" . But she would at least  wear her contacts , it
 
was at least a start wasn't it ?So slowly and sadly she changed back into
 
her frumpy clothes ,  nobody would ever see her at her best .  Except  the
 
fourteen  year  old lad named Michael who had been  watching  through  the
 
window from the house next door ,  for in her rush Helen had forgotten  to
 
close the curtains .
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

            
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Internet Story

                  Internet Story ©

                       By

                   Michael Casey

So all I had to do was send an email , and then I’d be a writer , my book in every shop , my face smirking from cardboard cutouts of me holding my book aloft . My book had a great title , so it was bound to sell . A Nation Of Shopkeepers was a great title , if only people could remember their History , were people interested in History , and for that matter my book . It wasn’t a history book , would people think it WAS a history book , and then not buy it . It was a comedy drama , about a street of shops , interconnecting short stories , for all the family , but would people notice the levels , the strands of humour , or would they say it’s a Ma & Pa book , and miss the joke , just as one publisher called  did ?

I decided to keep the title , though I had a reserve title , The Butcher , The Baker and The Undertaker . Then I realised the US market would rename it The Butcher , The Baker And The Funeral Arranger . You don’t think about such things when you are writing the book , you’re just happy , on a roll , in love with your own intellect , or just surprized you actually DO have any intellect , then you discover that you are dyslexic , you really are dyslexic , thankfully not a really bad case , just dyslexic . As you proof read you see you have put BUT instead PUT , LEAD instead of READ , things like this and other strange things . Sure there are spellcheckers but or is it put , you have to check it anyway . As you read you are surprized at your own ability . You didn’t waste 4years in journalism school , but your writing is GOOD , Did I write that ? Then your chest filled with pride you get somebody else to read it , and guess what ? They think its crap . So now you have to decide , should I give up or should I carry on ?

I gave up for as while , while is a unit of years in my  case , my life took another path , so the writing was forgotten , it lay dormant for years , then like a phoenix it arose , or more truthfully , like a tortoise awaking from hibernation , sleep still in my eyes I slowly poked my head out , then back in , went back to sleep again , then finally with the pangs of hunger in my stomach I just had to do something . In my case it was eat , as in really eat , then I turned to my old Atari and realised it was not PC compatible , so I bought a new , or rather an old new Atari which was PC compatible . Then I spent a day copying my files so that I could read them on a PC . Then I wrote a few more pieces before I realised I’d get nowhere in England . The chances of being published were 1 in 2000 . So like a bear , I went back in my cave and slumbered .

Meeting my wife Jing Jie was a turning point in my life , and not just because it was like Thunder as Jing Jie calls it , it was a turning point because I had a professional opinion on my writing , from a journalist at the very top of the tree . Her uncle is an editor in chief , so his comments were and are like gold , worth more than my first coffee and Cadbury’s chocolate , the pleasure rush I treat myself to every day , his comments really were that important to me , and I really DO like my Cadbury’s , so being better than Cadbury’s is the highest praise I can give . So I knew the quality of my writing , even if others said and say its crap .

Getting a modern PC and internet connection was another turning point . Email in our house is like water and electic in any other homes . Jing Jie can “talk” to her mum in Shanghai every day . To friends all over the world as well . Birmingham IS the centre of the universe .So with hope and fear I had to transfer my files from my old Atari to the new PC . The floppy discs were  old and battered , several were unreadable , finally my work , my babies were safely on the new PC . Just to be on the safe side I set up a website , so now my work was on somebody’s server in the US , thousands of miles away  , safe from fire or theft . I could also put our new baby’s photos on the web site so that my Chinese family in Shanghai and Maimi and friends all over the world could see Annie and Jing Jie and me , they could even read my work too .

So now all I had to do was market my work in the US , simple really , soon I’d be doing something useful with my life , making people laugh . I’d be a writing whore , I’d get paid to make others laugh , the best job in the world . So how would I set about it ? I got a list of radio stations from the internet and started sending emails galore . I’m talking in the hundreds now , to radio stations the length and breath of the US .They could publicise my site then eventually I’d get published , or my play would get produced . It was simple wasn’t it . So merrily I went about my business , sending emails galore . Years before I used to send off big heavy envelopes with my work in , with more persistance than hope in my heart .”Thank you for your pieces of paper“was the best put down . I once even met a writer and he agreed to to read my play Shoplife , then he wrote back calling me a plagerist , because it was so good . So I used his note as toilet paper , Shoplife was so good because I had 20years of experience given to me by my sister , I just improved on it , but yet I was called a Copyist , so naturally I was angry and used his note to wipe my bum .

I wondered why my strike rate was so low with my emails to radio stations , then somebody casually mentioned , “You do know they will just delete anything with an attachment” . In these days of viruses or worms which I’ve discovered is the new trendy word , nobody can risk their PC , so I merrily send and they merrily delete . I’d been wasting my time , but not my money because I’d got a 24/7 package on my internet from AOL .However one radio station did read Shoplife . The DJ or is it Host , he called it hilarious and he could not stop reading it . It turned out he was an actor as well , though isn’t everybody an actor in the US ?
So I thanked him , and quoted him in my future advertising .Humour is a funny thing . The things that make English people laugh are not the same as the things that make Americans’ laugh . We are constantly told by people on tv that English TV is the best in the world , the US material we see is the top 10% , the rest is rubbish . But I know I’d never get my foot in the door in England so I had to persist with my American campaign , so now I pasted in my material , no attachments . Just get them hooked , then paste in a sample then direct them to http://groups.msn.com/michaelcasey

Then bingo part2 of my life could begin ,I’d be the man that made America laugh , a naïve sentiment , but it was honest .Only AOL turns things into zip files and some people cann’t unzip your files , its like wanting sex but your zipper is broke and you cann’t get your trousers off . Such a strong urge , but no forfillment  .

I switched to MSMAIL and pasted in my stuff , things started to happen , my files weren’t being deleted or too zipped up to be read . At least I wasn’t frustrated any more . Now I had an agent interested , and a new magazine , even a theatre replied .All praise to Bill Gates , and to a Christian called Pat Verato who pointed me in the direction of a few good sites .However some of the sites that I trawled through were just , so very American . Hey , you too can be a writer , just send me 10 dollars and I’ll send you my book “How to make 10 dollars”  ,  and he does . Then there’s magazines you can subscribe to , yes you’ve guessed it , just send another 10 dollars “Writing for Beginners” . There’s all these agents too who are so successful , persuading tap dancing bus drivers to write about Tap Dancing For Bus Drivers , the complete self help book , costs 10 dollars . The agent gets 20percent , and the bus driver pays 5000dollars to print 500 copies , then he can boast he’s a writer , not just a bus driver , and guess what if you pay 10 dollars you can learn to tap dance too .

As for me , what do I think of all this ? I’d say just keep on writing , stop your selling , or attempts at selling , just write a bit . Add to your catalogue of 3 poems and 2 short stories , then search for an agent . Believe you’ll never be published and then you won’t be disappointed. There is one final thing you can do though , just tell everybody to go to my site http://groups.msn.com/michaelcasey
And help find a publisher for my book , and then you’ve guessed it , just send me 10 dollars !

                      End

this site is my new site

Literary Criticism

Nov99 Michael G Casey email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com

                     Literary Criticism  (c)

                           By

                     
                      Michael  Casey

       I always thought I was a good writer ,  people told me so ,  and it
was what I wanted to hear ,  so naturally I believed it .  That was  until
Jee  Ji  came  to live with me .  She told me she'd read  my  stuff  ,  my
"rubbish" and give an opinion , her uncles were influential , so perhaps ,
or just maybe they could help me get published or even produced . Then the
world would be my oyster , however I had forgotten one fundamental thing .
Jee Ji was Chinese ,  her English still had a long way to go , and besides
which  would  British humour travel as far as China ,  or as  far  as  her
Chinese brain ?

       So naturally I gave her my funniest story to read first ,  the true
yet surreally funny Czech story ,  and what did she say ? "Its boring", if
she had been a man or one of the lads from work I'd have punched her ,  or
at  the very least called her an "ignorant bastard".  But because I  loved
her , I took the critism like a man and smiled , and that was a revelation
in itself , why ? Because I had found somebody whom I respected enough not
to curse at when the hated my work ,  my stuff ,  my "rubbish" . Love is a
strange  thing ,  making you smile ,  instead of curse .  So it  at  least
proved  how  much I loved her ,  I had told her that my  stories  were  my
children  ,  the product of my love ,  the only thing with meaning  in  my
life ,  with value in my life .  Until true love came along in the form  f
Jee Ji herself .  So now we could discuss things , with love in our eyes ,
and my writing was , what it really was , just words on paper. Perhaps
someday my simple words would really have great value , but now I realised
what they were - words ,  just words , perhaps never to have any meaning ,
except to me alone .  In the Bible it begins with "In the beginningh there
was The Word" , aand after that we have the Bible itself , and the rest is
History .  So perhaps my humble words would have a beginning , and perhaps
my  future words would have history too ,  obviously not as great  as  The
Bible  ,  but I still dream that someday my words will have an  effect  on
people . I don't want to move mountains , just make people laugh , that's
enough for me .  However humour is a funny thing , I cannot tell a joke to
save  my  life but sopmehow when I put words on paper I  can  make  people
smile  and  even laugh .  When I'm really relaxed and down the pub  I  can
actually make people cry with laughter , and I don't know why , the trears
of laughter just flow ,  so perhaps when I write I should just relax  aand
pretend  I'm down the pub and most of all ,  just don't try to be funny  ,
just let the laughter flow naturally .
 
       So much for the theory ,  the practice is that you write for  years
and nobody pays a blind bit of notice  , then you write one thinmg and hey
presto you are recognised as a "writer" ,  well in your office at any rate
.  So you are suddenly "world famous" to a group of friends ,  if you  are
lucky  30 friends ,  that's just how "world famous" I became .  Offer  any
other  pieces  of  your "literature" and you are treated like  a  leper  ,
"Unclean ,  Unclean" people almost say .  I did get one real fan ,  and I
fell  in love with her ,  only she didn't fall in love with me  ,  as  she
repeatedly said .  However I did make a friend for life ,  which is better
than nothing . And I'm use to nothing , so that cann't be bad .

        Jee  Ji  revealed her uncles's connections  ,  after  I'd  already
guessed , I was happy but not overwhelmed . I had a play accepted 12 years
ago  ,  only it did not happen ,  so I've given up believing I'd  ever  be
acknowledged  as a writer long ago .  If a miracle happens and her  family
decides to help me then that's wonerful ,  but I have her love and love is
the greatest gift of all , so I'm more than happy . World recognition as a
writer  will never happen ,  not unless my mother who makes tea in  Heaven
pulls lots of strings for me , having said that she sent Jee Ji so perhaps
helping me find my true vocation is next on my mother's list . "Blessed is
he who expects nothing" , so perhaps before I die I will be blessed , and
become a writer .

        So that's how Jee Ji has become my literary critic ,  if I get 100
out of 100 she will pass on my work to her uncle , but she is the filter .
This  makes me smile and is the ultimate irony ,  becuase her  English  is
very good ,  though her verbalising is not as good as what's in her head ,
and  she still has to look words up in her electronic dictionary  .  So  I
have a Chinese literary critic , who is still learning English !

        So Igave her another piece to read , it was "Its all in the Stars"
a  comedy  based  on  me and Louise .  This made her  laugh  and  smile  ,
occasionally  Jee  Ji would look up and ask "What Mean?" and spell  out  a
word and I'd explain and make her look it up in the dictionary . So I'd be
smiling as I watched her read my story , and then I'd smile even more when
she  stopped to ask for explanations of English words .  God  really  DOES
have  the last laugh ,  first I have to write something funny ,  which  is
hardf in itself, then I have to write in such a way as to please a Chinese
girl  .  Now that is the future which I have to bear in mind .  As for  my
back  catologue ,  I just have to hope that with "The help of God and  Two
Policemen  "  as my mum alwasys used to say my old "stuff" will  pass  the
Chinese filter and get 100 out of 100 ,  and then a Chinese uncle in Maimi
or  a Chinese uncle in Shanghai will help this Birmingham England boy  get
his foot in the door as a writer .

         So I watch from my rocking chaire as she reads ,  as I watch  for
smiles I admire her beauty ,  though I call her ans "ugly mug" as a joke ,
and as a way of making her realise that beauty is only skin deep .  And we
both  realise too its because we see each others heart that's why  we  are
sitting  opposite eacxh other ,  that's why I have a Chinese critic of  my
British  humour  ,  and yes God really DOES have a truely great  sense  of
humour  .  If I can do the impossible then I will perhaps finally  get  my
chance  to be a writer .  Though I must immediately say that my  mum  does
make the tea in Heaven so I'm sure she's bribing Saint Jude ,  the  patron 
saint of the impossible ,  "Look , Saint Jude if you want the best tea for
all  eternity ,  just help Michael my youngest son ,  let him make  people
laugh for 70 years with his writing .  But only if he can make his Chinese
girl  give  him 100 out of 100 .  And only if its the Will  of  God." .So
basically  that's the situation . Simple really , I just sit in my rocking
chair and watch Jee Ji smile and every now and then she says "What Mean?"
and I explain and she checks it out in her electonic dictionary , then she
laughs more when she reads the Chinese translation .  I'm sure I can  hear
God laughing in the background ,  but I REALLY do believe mum sent Jee  Ji
to  me ,  so I hope its just a matter of time before I get my foot in  the
door and I get a chance to be a writer . Having said that perhaps I should
add that Time is God's greatest joke , didn't Padre Pio once say something
like "The prayers I will say tomorrow will have helped you yesterday ."

        To finish ,  perhaps I should just teach Jee Ji more English and
then Hey Presto she'll see what a wonderful writer I am . I'm laughing now
at my own stupidity , its more likely she'll think even more how useless I
am as a writer , however God works in mysterious ways and another thing my
mother used to say was "Far Fetched , Like Shit from China." Why ? Because
our  meeting and falling ion love is so unbelieveable and so  far  fetched
just  like "Shit from China" ,  so the ultimate joke is that it  takes  a
real Chinese miracle for me to find a girl AND get published .
Or can I hear God Laughing ?

***** this is a true figure of speech that my mother used to use, IT IS NOT anything else.

Padre Pio and Me a true story

                  Padre Pio and Me ©

                        By

                   Michael Casey

 

    It’s a contradiction in terms immediately , how can I copyright  a Saint . A brand new saint at that . I first heard of him through some Religious reading I did . I feel embarrassed to admit it , but I am a practising Catholic , its not fashionable to have any Faith but its mine so I admit it . Immediately the prejudice begins , but if I WERE A Jew or a Muslim , it would be the same . I do feel that my catholic tastes have given me a broader outlook on life , as has my  eclectic tastes and rubbing shoulders with a wide variety of people .

But I want to talk about Padre Pio . I had a crisis and was reading about him at the time , so I said my prayers to him and the way forward was revealed . Though Padre Pio always says go Higher , he is just a stepping stone on the way to a better place . What is so hard to understand about Padre Pio  is how he suffered . He had the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune . Condemned by his own superiors , made to be quiet for a decade and so forth . Science Fiction teaches or rather amuses us about Time Travel , but with Padre Pio it really happened , he wanted to share in Christ’s agony so he thought , what if he too could have and suffer the wounds on that day of Crucifiction . So it came to pass that he suffered for 50years . He had the indignity of medical examinations and of being thought just to be a mental patient , but his work and life proved his holiness .

So it’s nearly 1990 and I hear about him and read a few books , its hard to understand the value of suffering in this age of quick fix pain killers and the lets have a fix , whatever the fix might be , sex, drugs and rock and roll or whatever . Its like suddenly studying again after years of lying fallow , the learning curve is enormous . So too is it with Padre Pio , the idea behind his life is enormous , but so too is the capacity for love and help .
My favourite story is how Padre Pio explains that The Wedding Feast at Cena happened because Jesus could not refuse his mother . Very Italian , or Irish or Spanish and so on , but could any of us refuse our mothers?

So I thought more about what Padre Pio said , and his motto of Pray Hope Don’t Worry became my own . Carpe Diem is another good motto but perhaps this can be used by any Hedonist , or other kind of selfish person .Padre Pio reminds us to pray and that pray is not wasted , its perfume that is never wasted is a phrase I like . My mother always used to say that if you couldn’t sleep you should say the Rosary , and she was right . Though in todays world an hour on the Internet or with MTV might do the trick .

So why the devotion to Padre Pio , I’ll cut to the chase.
My mother died suddenly but peacefully in her sleep , my brother tried CPR , but she was gone . Imagine the angusih amongst her 6 children and her husband of nearly 50 years . All except me , my mother had said no tears when she go ,so I never cried , I was the odd one out .I know how prayerful she was , so I had no need of tears .
Eight bare weeks later my brother , the same brother heard our dad fall out of bed , so he ran to his bedroom . My brother was facing the exact same situation , he tried CPR , the ambulance was called , an injection was given straight to the heart . On weekends there is a doctor in the ambulance , so Luck , if that’s the word was with us . The next day 4 of my brothers and sisters came around to tell me the news . When my sister had come around 8 weeks previously I knew somebody was dead but I assumed it was my dad , he’s die first we all thought . So now 8 weeks later it was his turn to die .

At the hospital dad was given 1 week to live , I cried like a baby , worse than a baby , but I loved him , so I told he he should go to our mother and not hang on if he didn’t want to . The next day I was in my sister’s house crying , we picked hymns for his funeral .Yet my father survived , 19 patients on a heart ward , 18 died my dad survived . Padre Pio was beseiged by my prayers , I put Padre Pio’s photo under his pillow . Dad lost his mind , he was in Dudley Rd for 3months , 12 weeks , more than half of them all tubed up . His life hanging in the balance . At the same time somewhere in Florida another man was at deaths door , he was a totally stranger to me , I didn’t even know his name , I’d never met him , he was give 24hours to live , a Chinese man from Shanghai  was at deaths door . The Chinaman survived .My dad’s memory was totally wiped , he did not know who I was, I’m your son was greeted with , am I married . I was the favourite son , he did not even know me . But still we prayed , it’s a feeling in your guts , just like when you are nearly killed as you cross the road , its in your guts and in your heart , Jesus save my dad , Jesus save my dad , Padre Pio help !!! This goes around your head like a merry go around or a kaleidascope . Finally dad awoke . He said that he can remember hearing the doctor say to wheel him down to the end of the ward , because he’d be dead soon . At that moment my dad awoke, and the doctor dropped  his cup of tea in shock . No not an instanteous miracle , but as Dr Singh had said if he were 30years younger he’d have a heart transplant because dad’s heart was rubbish .

Now , when I told my brother that dad was reading a newspaper he was shocked . His memory had come back . He knew who we all were .Every day for three months I walked the corridor at Dudley Rd , the longest hospital corridor in Europe , 1 kilometre long . Finally he left the hospital , my sister had found a good home for him to live in , he was far too weak to live in the family house .

For 3 years dad survived , like a Godfather with all his children making constant visits . Finally I met my future wife . It was her uncle who had miraclously survived at the same time as my father . It was her uncle who encouraged us in our love . From Shanghai to Birmingham .These great men , her uncle and my father never met , but I know Padre Pio must have  helped both of them . Further prayer was needed to bring me and my wife permanenetly together . A Chinese miracle happened . Now we are wed , we have a 2year old and please God a healthy second baby in the Autumn . The improbability of our meeting , plus the fact that both men HAD to live for us to be married and have a family , this may be a coincidence to some but I know a miracle when I see one. A miracle is something that makes you feel humble , it makes you know that God has whispered your name . When I look at my wife , I feel humble . Seeing our daughter laugh and play also makes me humble as will our new baby.
Then you can look back and know that prayer is like perfume that can never be wasted  , your life has led you to where you are now , yes at times sad and terrible , but be humble in the sight of God means something , not just for me , but for all Believers .

I once stood by the fridge and said to Padre Pio , I give up , you take over , all I want is to be married , and perhaps have a family , and do something useful with my life . That was just before my eyes were opened to my wife . I used to say that I got 2 out of my 3 wishes . Perhaps my current occupation is my 3rd wish , or a more outstanding miracle is waiting in the wings , but as Padre Pio  said ,always ask for the big Grace .Perhaps
 we have to be humble enough to deserve it , because I believe it to be a fact that , truly great people are humble because they know just how little they really know.